


Dreams are made for falling

by goldfwish



Series: Drarryland 2019 [8]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dreams, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 09:01:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18279965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldfwish/pseuds/goldfwish
Summary: Harry dreams, and it features fire, competition, and stormy-cloudy-grey.





	Dreams are made for falling

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Merlin! You've drawn the Five of Wands, upright. You must write a story with themes of rivalry, conflict, and competition. The element that you should channel is fire--passion, explosive, fight. The tea leaves tell us you will write between 311 words and 677 words.
> 
> Thank you to [Andithiel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andithiel/pseuds/Andithiel) for the beta!

Harry’s dreaming. He knows he’s dreaming because he refuses to believe that this is real. That the hands on his body are anything but fictional, a mere manifestation of his subconscious. But if this is a dream, then what does it say about him? Because the hands running down his chest are impossibly pale, and the eyes that are looking into his are stormy-cloudy-grey, and it’s hot. It’s so, so hot, and Harry feels like he’s burning up, like his blood is boiling and his heart is beating out of his chest, and his hands keep slipping because he’s sweating, the droplets running down his spine. 

Bed sheets are scratchy-smooth against his skin, and velvet curtains trap in the heat, closing in the sound of lungs rapidly expanding and contracting, the sound of gasping breaths, harsh in their chests. Harry can feel each exhale against his own, a cloud of intermingling wet warmth. 

It’s a competition, Harry realizes. And he plans to win. He wants to make Draco lose, wants to see him fall, wants to look into the stormy-cloudy-grey and watch it fracture under his gaze.

Harry tries to grasp onto a pale arm, but his hand is slipping, and the dream is shifting. There’s a broom between his thighs, and it’s hot. It’s so, so hot, and Harry needs to hold on, he needs to grab onto that pale, pale hand because the stormy-cloudy-grey is terrified. Towers of furniture and neglected items crumble around them, and the fire is a terrible beast who doesn’t care about things like right or wrong, good or bad. It threatens to swallow everything, only caring for its own survival. 

Hands scrabble for purchase, and it’s the same dream really, except it’s really not, and this is a competition too, except they’re both the losers.

He’s gripping those pale, pale fingers, holding onto them like he’s holding in the smoke in his lungs, and then there’s screaming, except it’s a quidditch game and the screams turn into cheers and they’re on separate brooms. Draco’s eyes are flashing with defiance and determination. There’s a golden glint in the clouds, and then they’re both leaning flat against the grain of the wood, green and red a blur against the stormy-cloudy-grey of the sky. 

His eyes are the same colour, Harry realizes, and he’s on fire again, except there’s no terror here. The golden glint is closer now, and their hands stretch out, the wind threading through their fingers. So close, just an inch more, muscles straining, eyes squinting, and the tip of Harry’s middle finger is brushing against the shiny metal. But then impossibly pale skin pushes his arm away, and there’s cheering and clapping and noises everywhere, and they’re falling, falling. 

They’re on the grass, and there’s mud on their faces, and the golden glint isn’t just a glint anymore, it’s a solid sphere, and it’s contained within those slender fingers. And then stormy-cloudy-grey eyes are looking into his, and it’s hot. It’s so, so hot, and Harry is burning up inside, his heart a barely contained flame, begging to be let loose. 

Harry’s dreaming, and it’s a competition. But in the end, they both win.


End file.
